The Sick Rose
by Severus my hero
Summary: He brought her another rose just like he did every time unaware that she is sick of him and sick of them but just can't let go.


**Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" does not belong to me because if it did then I would not be nervously awaiting my exam results but instead would be enjoying a calm evening in the sauna or perhaps my personal Jacuzzi. Sighs. **

**A/N: The name is taken from William Wordsworth's poem and this fic is loosely based on it: not exactly but partially. I hope you like it!**

**The Sick Rose**

The Sun rose and shone magnificently on the miserable loneliness and emptiness of her existence. Her red tresses were bathed in the golden rays presenting a vivid contrast to the white sheets covering her bed and her body. Near her hand lay a full red rose like a blot of blood staining the sheets, while her eyes, ever green, looked straight ahead like those of a dead bird and silent tears rushed out flowing in streams down her cheeks.

Her knight had come back from the battle field alive and well but she had no words of joy to bestow upon him. There was something like an invisible presence between them, like a shadow: unclear yet familiar. She took a deep breath and wiped her tears away slowly as if forced to loose the most treasured source of comfort.

"Lily," he mumbled softly opening his eyes slightly and then squinting at the window. His voice ran through her like a frozen blade: she couldn't feel a thing but blood seemed to seep out of her.

"Y-yes?" she whispered hoping against all odds that he would not catch her tone of misery.

"Good morning," she clutched the beautiful rose in her hands like a talisman hoping that everything in front of her would disappear especially this man who so graciously bequeathed his heart to her and she wished nothing but to rip it apart.

She plastered a fake smile on her face and bent towards him to softly peck his lips. However, he responded too enthusiastically wrapping his hands around her waist and crushing her into him, his tongue exploring her mouth. Treacherous tears seeped out of her eyes as she half-heartedly brought her shaking hand up to the back of his neck, stroking it wondering how long it would be before it was over. She felt as if with every loving caress he was drawing out her life blood drop by drop like a leech, and in the midst of all the disgust she felt at herself for leading him on, she found pleasure.

#

In her life Time was insubstantial. The starting and ending of the day was unworthy of her concern. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, they all held no value in her eyes. You eat to live, her mind told her and her heart screamed 'But I don't want to live! Not this life!'

He came down to the kitchen and prepared two eggs and a few toast for the both of them. She was forced to eat a little because if she didn't he would be concerned. She hated his concern! It drove through to her heart and evoked there a desire to love him back but that, alas, was impossible. So followed more misery.

She stared at his hands as they fumbled with the toast and wondered where had that Time run off to when she would have laughed at this, when she would have enjoyed having a lazy morning with him. Her deep sorrowful sigh is not lost on him and he looks at her with that damned concern. It drove her crazy! But she sat still and ignored his hand which rested questioningly yet cautiously on her own.

"What is it love?"

"Nothing," her cold tone caught him off guard and he flinched drawing his hand away from her. She couldn't stand the hurt that radiated from his presence when the grief that resided within her own soul was already weighing heavy on her existence. She stood up abruptly and left the table, her eggs and toast untouched save for a few small bites.

As she climbed the stares dizziness overcame her and she almost fell however he was watching her and moved quickly to catch her, to support her. She had never hated him more!

She felt ill and blamed him for whatever ailment had stricken her. 'The disease of the mind and soul does not take long to become the disease of the body.' This thought hit her like a boulder and more tears of misery overwhelmed her. She had brought all of this upon herself. She had brought all of this upon herself!

She couldn't stand still and felt so frail that it became impossible for her to detach herself from his grasp. Unwillingly and grudgingly she let herself relax in his arms, while he bent down and gathered her completely in them to carry her to her bed. She felt her insides seethe!

The same bed, the same white linen and the same scent of their passion engulfed her. It all seemed to mock her and she could do nothing but to lay there. Her heart hammered in her chest as he sat down next to her. The passion in her rose to a dangerous level, not to breathe love but to breathe death. Hers or his? It could not decide.

He slowly stroked her hair while she cursed him for every single gesture of love. Why couldn't he hate her too? Why did he have to be so perfect? Why did he have to make her feel like a horrible monster?

More tears welled up and she did nothing to stop them but to look straight ahead and let them rush down her cheeks. Another day had come and it would pass too just like the rest of them. Hopefully her life would too, however slowly and miserably, because no matter what she could not bring herself to turn him away just like she could not bring herself to throw away the many roses he had brought her which lay rotting in her bottom drawer.


End file.
